


The One That Got Away

by ab2fsycho



Series: I'm the Chip You're the Dip [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Detective!Dipper, M/M, idk if i should be proud or disappointed in myself, mentions of gore and violence, not my idea, serial killer au, serial killer!Cipher, this is the fluffiest serial killer au to ever come to fruition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Pines has been tracking down a killer. Perhaps he should have been looking at those closest to him as suspects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One That Got Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheChronicLiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChronicLiar/gifts).



> This was the lovely idea of the person to whom I am gifting this work.

“Hey babe.”

“How long you gonna be out there? Don't want dinner to get cold now, do ya?”

Detective 'Dipper' Pines grinned. “On my way now. Rough day at work.”

“Officer!” He jokingly scolded, “You know you're not supposed to be driving on the phone.”

“Shhh. Don't tell.”

He heard a dark chuckle on the other end. “Do you break the rules often, sir?”

“Only for you.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Now hurry back.” Dipper heard the smile in his voice as they hung up.

That conversation had taken place hours ago. Now Dipper was blindfolded and gagged with his hands tied above his head. Legs strapped to the chair's, the piece of furniture was leaning back slightly so that he was partially lying down. He wanted to fight the bonds, try to break free, but he couldn't quite squelch down the knowledge that he was sitting in a still slick pool of blood. The thought made him sick all over again.

The lump on the back of his head ached as he came fully to his senses. After being struck and winding up here, he couldn't help reliving what he'd seen prior to being knocked out in vivid detail. He'd found a secret basement, which was kept hidden by a book shelf. The only reason he'd found it was because he'd heard a cell phone ringing and followed the sound. He'd simply thought the device had fallen behind the shelf. He had not expected to find a kill room still bloody from a fresh victim, whose body was not present but surely close.

Perhaps the part that hurt worst was that this kill room belonged to Bill Cipher, his boyfriend of two and a half months. Bill was none other than the Illuminati Killer—he cringed inwardly at the awful name, which was only coined because of the mark the killer carved into the cheeks of his victims—who had been leaving messages for him to decipher for longer than he and Bill had been dating. 

There was still a part of him that really, really hoped that it wasn't Bill. Running through the evidence in his head however, it all made sense. The killer used a surgeon's blade to carve his symbol on the victims' cheeks before killing them. The blade had been ID'd by his sister, a doctor. She'd known simply by looking at the precision of the cut. The only connection the victims had were location, all reported to have disappeared somewhere between the hospital and a supermarket. Dipper and the force had hoped patrolling the area would decrease the disappearances and killings, which it had. Not all victims were recovered, nor were they all killed though. Some simply returned with one eye missing and no recollection of what happened to them whatsoever. That led the force to believe the Illuminati Killer to be in possession of a heavy sedative, maybe even an anesthetic. No supplies were reported to have gone missing from the hospital either, but Dipper suspected that to be poor inventory keeping on the hospital's part. Mabel had told him plenty of what tended to go wrong in there and that was one of many things. The force had questioned every employee at the hospital, thinking that one of them might have some insight on the subject. The interviews had come up fruitless, all employees either having alibis or not enough connection to pin any of them. Mabel had been most helpful, as she'd advised him and the force many times during the case.

One of the employees interviewed had been Bill. Bill was a doctor. He had access to every tool the killer was reported to have used. The evidence seemed overwhelming and Dipper felt stupid (so fucking stupid) for not having figured it out sooner. But he'd been charming, so very charming. None on the police force had even suspected him. Mabel hadn't even suspected him, and she'd set up their first date. 

“Why'd you have to be so damn curious, kid? I was really starting to like this town, too,” a voice interrupted Dipper's thoughts making him jolt in his seat. He felt the puddle of blood and even smelled it, and he felt like he was going to be sick all over again. Bill was the killer. That was undeniably his voice, he could no longer deny that he was the Illuminati Killer. “I know I wanted to make you scream, but this certainly wasn't what I had in mind for our first time.” Dipper cringed at the words and felt his insides recoil. He whimpered, biting down on the gag as soon as the sound left his lips. He heard footsteps approaching him and his first instinct was to shrink away. He felt a gloved hand coming at his face and started tossing his head from side to side in hopes it would deter Bill. It did not. When Bill finally seized his chin, he started laughing as Dipper growled. “I always liked you as a fighter, Dip.” There was a note in his tone Dipper couldn't quite understand. “Shame it has to end so soon.” 

The next thing Dipper knew, there was a searing pain on his right cheek. He grit his teeth and tried to arch away from Bill's grasp at first, but he had absolutely no leverage and Bill's grip was iron. Through the gag, he screamed, “Bill!” as the man carved a triangle with an eye into his cheek. He felt blood running down his face and staining the gag, the cloth sticking to his skin as tears formed in his eyes and threatened to moisten the blindfold.

“Don't say my name,” the killer ordered as he finished up the mark. His voice was harsher that time, like he was struggling with something. Then his dark laugh returned and he commented, “Of course, it would've been nice to hear you saying it under different circumstances, if you get my meaning.” The hand on Dipper's jaw loosened and trailed over his throat and down his chest. “So young for a detective. So handsome, too. You really should've been more careful with your career choices, Dip. Any killer worth his salt would love to have something of yours as a trophy.” Bill stepped off of him then, footsteps growing quieter as he walked away. “Which reminds me,” he said in an afterthought, “I'm keeping that stupid hat of yours.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dipper asked through the gag. He had no reason not to ask. It wasn't like he was going to be able to talk Bill out of killing him. God, he wished he could. More than anything, he wished it wasn't Bill. He liked to think his resolve would be better when faced with a serial killer, but Bill was steadily proving him wrong. He had almost no resolve when it came to him and it made Dipper feel awful. He cringed at the idea of his partners on the force seeing him like this.

“Well, I thought the answer was obvious, but I'll spell it out for you anyway. You found out my little secret. Now you have to die.”

He sounded so cold. It was like he didn't care at all. Dipper had to tell himself that that was the case. He had to stop the ache inside him before it rendered him so much weaker than he already was. “Why'd you hurt the others?” Dipper asked, trying not to list the names of all seventeen victims in his head. He was number eighteen on that list, and the thought still made him as sick as the blood he was still squirming on made him feel.

“They were rude,” Bill said. “Backed out of agreements, inconvenienced me and just about everyone they came in contact with. What would you do, Detective?”

“Not kill anyone!” Dipper cried out, straining against his bonds angrily. He tried kicking, pulling, sitting up, but always wound up right back where he'd been. Vocalizing against the gag, he tried desperately to yank his hands free.

Then there was a body pressing down on top of him, straddling his waist and running something sharp over his exposed throat and collarbone. Dipper stilled, freezing solidly and breath ceasing in his lungs as he felt the point dragging against his Adam's apple. “I guess it would be pointless carving a message onto you. It's not like anyone else on your team would be able to read it.” Dipper whimpered involuntarily, and as tears squeezed out of his eyes and wet the rag blinding him he realized just how much he hated himself. He hated himself more than he hated Bill, and Bill was the one currently holding Dipper's life in his hands. The thought made the agony brought on by the betrayal so much worse. That's what this was: betrayal. He knew no other better description for the situation he was faced with. “Stop that,” the man grumbled above him, bringing the knife up over Dipper's chin, across the gag, and up his uninjured cheek.

“Bill—”

“Don't! I told you not to say my name.”

Bill was in the prime position to make Dipper suffer more than he had ever done in his entire life, and yet the order came off more as a plea. Maybe Dipper was growing delirious in the last moments of life. Maybe it was wishful thinking. All he knew was that it sounded like Bill actually felt bad for doing this to him.

The knife dipped down his cheek to his ear, traveling back down the side of his neck in a way that made his entire being shiver. Before he could stop himself, he struggled against the gag. Whether it was looser than he anticipated or it had become loose, he was able to work it out of his mouth with his tongue and say, “Bill please—”

“I knew that thing wasn't tight enough.” Bill's voice was a growl as his gloved hand reached for the gag that had slipped down to Dipper's neck. Dipper tossed his head, crying out as he punctured himself on the tip of Bill's knife. “Stop moving!” Bill's hand was gripping Dipper's jaw again then.

But Dipper had not been gagged again yet. “Please don't do this.”

“You think you're the first person to beg me for their life? Don't be stupid.”

“Bill, I know you. I'm not one of the others.”

“You don't know me at all,” Bill snarled through gritted teeth as nails bit into the sides of Dipper's face. One finger even dug into the fresh cuts, making him gasp. He felt feverish as another sharp intake of breath wracked him, the knife pressing just under his blindfold and near his eye. “I'd cut your eyes out if they weren't so pretty in your head.”

And yet he'd done nothing else to hurt him aside from marking him. The threat was halfhearted as well. Somehow Dipper knew this. Something desperate inside him kicked in, the ache worsening and yet not hindering his speech any longer. “I know that you don't want to kill me.”

“You left me little choice, kid.”

“What if you did have a choice?” Bill didn't answer. The knife lingered beneath Dipper's eye, but Bill said nothing, made no other move. His desperation grew more and more obvious as his voice strained against his own reservations. “Please. You don't have to do this.”

“Yes I do,” Bill said, voice low and almost pained. “You've been looking for me for a very long time, Detective Pines.”

“I was looking for the Illuminati Killer—”

“And now you've found him. Congratulations!” The knife left Dipper's face and he felt its point over his heart.

No. No, Dipper wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready. He cried out, “Bill, I—!”

“Shut up!” The knife dug in, penetrating his shirt. He shrank away, chest heaving as his last breaths came in and out shakily. Clenching his fists, his wrists were so raw that it pulled another set of whimpers from him. “Say one more thing. Say it. I'm begging you—”

In one final outburst, Dipper screamed, “I love you!” He fully expected those words to be the last ones on his lips before the knife plunged in. Instead Bill stiffened above him, and Dipper felt the knife shaking in his hand. Dipper felt the ache inside strengthen and burst as the blindfold grew wetter and wetter and his whimpers escalated in frequency. He hated this complete and utter lack of control, the way his mouth opened and allowed such awful noises to come flowing from his lips. Worse yet, he hated how his tongue worked completely without his permission. His rashness would kill him faster than Bill. “I do know you.” Tears stung his injured cheek, and what came out of his mouth next felt so incredibly ridiculous because all he was doing was stalling Bill but his tongue worked anyway. “I know you've read every classic horror novel you could find and can recite them if you wanted to. I know your smiles and what each one means. I know your hair smells like firewood. I know you hate the idea of the color green, and can still pick it out and glare at it even though you're colorblind.” The knife left his chest, but his mouth wouldn't stop moving. “I know you love the ocean and its vastness even though you can't swim. I know you want to drive across the country one day. I know your spine arches when I kiss you, and the face you make when you don't want me to st—”

He was silenced by Bill's hand grasping his throat so tight Dipper thought this was it. This was finally it. He'd said too much, and now he was going to be strangled to death. His suspicions seemed confirmed as Bill's hand tightened around his neck, constricting his air even further. Mouth wide open and tears still streaming, Dipper couldn't even manage a squeak as something (the knife) clattered to the floor and another hand joined the one already on his neck. “Fuck you!” he heard Bill shout over the buzzing in his ears as the killer lifted Dipper up off the chair slightly by his neck. He heard whimpering and heavy breathing and thought it was coming from himself. His mind was a little too fuzzy to comprehend that that wasn't possible, but the thought still lingered as he felt himself drifting off. “Detective Pines would never say those things. He would never break the rules.”

Dipper wasn't sure he'd heard those last two lines, but he responded anyway. As everything swiftly faded, he managed to mouth, “Only for you.” The grip tightened and he accepted this as a much less brutal end than he'd anticipated.

Then the hands left his throat and he gasped, trying to oxygenate himself and choking on the air instead. He was so busy fighting to breathe that he didn't have the energy to flinch at the hands on either side of his face. His throat felt bruised and soon the blindfold was being slid off his face, allowing the light to blind him. Chest heaving, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take long steady breaths no matter how much it hurt. The buzzing in his ears slowly faded and his body went lax in the chair. He felt Bill's forehead touching his and knew without looking that there were tears in the other's eyes too. He knew it in the way his body shook above him and his breaths seemed shorter. He couldn't kill Dipper. Bill couldn't kill Dipper, and somehow that was more important than anything else at the moment. 

Everything hurt from the abuse, even his eyes. Still, they managed to slide open and make contact with Bill's. Seeing the remorse firsthand was enough to make Dipper focus. Leaning his head up, he doubted he could speak with his throat hurting so much. That didn't stop him from planting a kiss on other's lips though. It hurt to strain, but it was worth it to feel the affirmation that Bill felt similarly if not the same. Dipper felt this in the way he returned the kiss, tangling his fingers in the detective's hair as he pressed Dipper's head back into the chair. More tears escaped Dipper's eyes as the kiss deepened and Bill's hands suddenly reached up to fumble with the bonds on Dipper's wrists.

Dipper let out a relieved cry as his wrists were freed of the rope. Then he sat up more than he'd been able to before, wrapping an arm around Bill's waist before reaching up with his other hand and grabbing a handful of Bill's hair. Pulling the other in for another more eager kiss, he ignored how sore his throat was. As if knowing the pain the kiss was causing, Bill placed his hands on Dipper's shoulders and pushed back. Breaking the kiss, he then proceeded to drag his lips over Dipper's eyes, injured cheek, bruised neck, finding and brushing across every part of the detective he'd harmed. Bill's hands gripped Dipper's sides before he pressed another brief kiss on Dipper's lips.

For a moment, Dipper completely forgot where they were and who they were supposed to be. Then reality came running back in and he slumped against Bill, who wrapped his arms around his waist and shoulders possessively. Then their foreheads rested against each other again while they breathed the same air, hands still grasping each other tightly as if they might lose one another.

In truth, they were about to. Because Dipper actually was obligated to report this. The thought made a lump rise in his throat that he wasn't sure he could swallow in time. He did anyway. He had to. He fought to say something, but his throat was so weak that he could hardly muster a decent breath for the moment. It was Bill who asked, “What now?”

Finding his breath and his resolve, Dipper came to a quick conclusion. He knew it was an unsteady and very much illegal conclusion, but it was the only one he could come up with in which the both of them could live. “You're gonna run,” he fought to say past both the lump and the pain of having been strangled. Bill's eyes opened to stare at Dipper, waiting for an explanation. Whispering lower so as not to strain his voice but so much, Dipper continued, “You're gonna tie me back up, and you're gonna run. Get as far from here as you can.”

“After all that, you expect me to just leave you here?” Bill's voice was so soft Dipper thought he'd been choked too.

Gulping painfully, Dipper said, “You won't kill me. I won't turn you in.” They both knew they could, but they also knew they wouldn't. “But I have to tell the force. On that, you were right.” Bill's hands slid up to cup Dipper's face. “But I'm giving you the opportunity to leave. Disappear. I know you can.” Somehow, he knew Bill was capable of that. “I owe you that much. You just have to make it look like you left me here. They'll track my truck here when I don't come into work tomorrow.” Today really. It was past midnight. “Make it look like you ran out on me and left me to die.”

“You're giving me . . . over eight hours worth of a head start.” Dipper nodded. “Why?”

“I already told you why.”

They stared at one another, both stricken with a sorrow that they didn't need to verbalize. Bill closed his eyes, pressing his lips to Dipper's once more. “What will happen to you?” Dipper shook his head. He didn't know. He really didn't. He just knew he didn't want to see what the force had in store for Bill if he ever got caught. This was not how things were supposed to have gone. Dipper had never once predicted he'd be telling the Illuminati Killer to run for his life, yet here he was now. Holding Bill for one more moment, he then let him go. Lying back down willingly, he let Bill tie him back up and pull the blindfold and gag back in place. The bonds were looser this time, but still tight enough that Dipper couldn't slip out of them. Bill slid off of Dipper, and the detective already missed the weight of the other. Before Bill's footsteps reached Dipper's ears, one last kiss was planted on his lips. Bill's final words to him were, “I'll find you again. If I can.”

“Don't.” Not because Dipper didn't want him to, but because he didn't want to risk it.

There was a moment where he thought Bill would take this opportunity to truly kill him. He was proven wrong as the other padded upwards and out of the room, leaving him where seventeen others had been killed or maimed. As selfish as it seemed, Dipper thought the crime the two of them had just committed was far greater than any other done here. His self-hatred ensued, but he was alive. So was Bill. Bill could kill again, and Dipper would have been the one to let him.

Dipper had fallen for the Illuminati Killer, and the only thing he was capable of doing was letting the man run. He should be furious with himself, but all he could think about was the way the other had regretted hurting him. He wanted to call Bill back, beg him to take Dipper with him.

But Bill was gone. He knew he was gone. Now all Detective Pines could do was wait.

:)

At some point that night, Dipper had passed out on the chair only to be awoken by lights and sirens outside. It seemed Bill had left every door open, leaving a clear path to where Dipper was being held captive. The scene and Dipper's story were convincing enough that no one questioned that he might have let Bill escape. No one even brought up the theory. He supposed the bruising and cuts were enough to tell the story Dipper wanted them to hear, really.

One year later, Dipper had moved back to his hometown across the United States. Mabel still felt guilty for having set her brother up with a serial killer, and Detective Pines was just Dipper Pines again. The force had taken his resignation fairly well, understanding that it wasn't exactly easy to accept that the man he'd wanted nothing more than to catch had been so much closer than he'd ever expected. They understood that one doesn't simply get over that. 

Dipper was still involved with the police. He remained in contact with his old force. They kept in touch and let him in on a few pieces of information. No disappearances had been reported since, and no bodies or mutilated individuals had turned up. From what anyone could tell, the Illuminati Killer had ceased his reign. Dipper had also taken up journalism, writing spots on safety for the town and developing a decent enough relationship with the police so that they were more willing to share information.

Dipper was working on a piece at Lazy Susan's diner when a couple of kids walked up to him. “Mr. Pines?” one asked quietly.

“Mr. Pines is my father. Just call me Dipper. What's up?” he said, looking up. He tried not to sigh at the camera one was holding.

“Can we get a picture of you?”

He didn't huff the way he would if the two had been adults. He did, however, inwardly curse the news for broadcasting his name after the discovery of the identity of the Illuminati Killer. Honestly, he'd thought victim discretion was a universal thing. He supposed not in his case. Then again, even if they hadn't let everyone know who the eighteenth victim was, it wouldn't have been hard to figure it out. Dipper's face had scarred quite hideously.

“Sure,” he answered them. They didn't know any better. He'd let them have this one. When they got the picture they'd wanted and ran off, he self-consciously scratched at the stubble that only partially covered the triangle and eye. 

“Want me to ban them from the diner, sweetie?” Susan said as she approached and poured him more coffee.

“Nah. Just kids,” he told her. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem. Anything for Stan's nephew. Tell him to call me sometime.”

Dipper smiled. “I will.”

Without thinking too much about it, he continued working on arranging his graphs. Chewing on the end of his pencil, he heard someone turn around in the booth behind him. He didn't think anything of it at first, scribbling notes in the sidelines without looking up.

Then the person behind him asked, “You're the detective, right?”

Dipper did sigh then. Still not looking up, he uttered, “Formerly a detective.”

“Why'd you quit?”

Oh God, not this discussion again. Electing not to go into details, he said curtly, “I got caught by the guy I was supposed to catch. End of story.”

There was a lengthy pause where Dipper thought the guy was going to leave him alone at last. He was wrong. “Heard you dated the guy.”

Dipper grit his teeth then. In point zero three seconds, Stanford Pines came out in him and he said, “Look, you wanna hear the whole story? Buy me a few drinks first. Then you'll get it!” Yanking some money out of his pockets, he threw it down on the table. Gathering up his work, he proceeded out of the diner without looking at the man who'd asked.

He was partway through town when he looked to his left and realized the man had followed him out the diner and into the streets. He barely looked at the dark-haired man before letting out a loud curse. He was about to spew something more colorful when the man gripped his elbow with one hand and his shoulder with the other. Dipper almost shoved him back to slug him, but was rendered still when the other leaned in to whisper in his ear, “It would be my pleasure.” Dipper's eyes widened as he froze there on the sidewalk. Staring at the man beside him, he hadn't recognized him nor his voice at first. As soon as he'd whispered to Dipper, however, he knew exactly who the individual was. Hair no longer blonde and short, it was now shaggy and brown. Some stubble grew on the man's chin that was dark enough to match his dyed hair, and his clothing style was nothing like it used to be. He'd even added in a pair of glasses with transition lenses to throw off any suspecting onlookers. It was no wonder Dipper hadn't recognized him as soon as he'd seen him. The man smiled at the gawking Dipper, loosening his hold slightly as it became clear realization had dawned on him. Reaching up briefly, his thumb just barely grazed Dipper's scarred cheek. The gesture was almost tender, apologetic. Once his hands had lowered, the man whispered, “You look good.”

Dipper sputtered for a moment. “Y-you too.” The other laughed lowly, a laugh that Dipper definitely recognized. “Are you—?”

“Please,” the other held out his hand in a somewhat grand gesture that was undeniably Bill-like, “call me Jeff.”

Dipper took his hand slowly, mouthing the name, “Jeff,” as they shook hands. He squinted. “As in Jeff the Killer?”

'Jeff' snickered. “Yeah. Only I haven't killed anyone lately.” Dipper rolled his eyes, slightly unimpressed with the humor. Then he whispered, “Really.” Coming from the force, that news had meant little. Coming from the man himself, Dipper believed it. After a few moments of awkward silence, Dipper felt the familiar ache building up in his chest and bursting inside him. A few stuttered breaths left his parted lips before he gripped the hand he was still shaking harder. Before he knew what his face was doing, he found himself grinning at Jeff. Jeff grinned back, adjusting his glasses and adopting a persona of someone a little less forward. Dipper shouldn't have been surprised at how well Bill hid his identity in this character he created, but he was actually impressed. “About those drinks,” he said in the tone he'd taken previously, eyebrows lifting slightly. He lowered his voice again, “Your place or mine? Something tells me we have a lot of making up to do.”

Dipper didn't hesitate. “Mine.” Jeff smiled as Dipper led him down the street.

It took him a moment to realize they were still holding hands. Dipper didn't think he had the strength to let go, though.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The hanging tree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112923) by [Criminals_code](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criminals_code/pseuds/Criminals_code)




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